


Bucky's Choice

by Neverever



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Friends to Lovers, Mobsters, Multi, noir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-03 00:50:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1725113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neverever/pseuds/Neverever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1950 Brooklyn, Bucky has been sliding into a life of petty crime since his return from the war. Now a mobster threatens his best friend, Steve, and Bucky needs to find a way to save them both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bucky's Choice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Selenay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selenay/gifts).



> Written for MCU Alternate Universe Fest 2014 as a gift for Selenay. Selenay requested Bucky and Steve in coffee shop au. Fic went a little sideways. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Big thanks as ever to my beta.

“Hey, Barnes, Rumlow’s looking for you,” a man called out to him as Bucky crossed the street. “He says he’s got a job for you.”

“He knows where to find me,” Bucky shot back. Despite his declaration of independence, Bucky knew in his gut he’d have to look up the baby mobster whether he wanted to or not. He slouched further into his cheap, worn coat and tipped his hat further down his forehead. 

Bucky had a few hours to kill before he showed up at the Pussy Cat Club for work. He was lucky to even have the part-time bouncer job, as the one-armed army vet was reminded daily. He had been tough as nails before the war. And the loss of his left arm in the war didn’t change a damn thing. 

Wandering aimlessly up the street, he finally stopped in front of Steve’s coffee shop. The neatly lettered sign pleasantly stated the shop was closed but please come again. That was Steve all over. The man spent ’42 to ’45 in all the hell spots in Europe and still had his manners. But Bucky never used the front door and went down the alley to go through the shop’s back door.

As expected, Steve was hard at work in the well-stocked kitchen of his coffee shop prepping for the next day. He smiled broadly at Bucky. “Hey, Sam, look what cat dragged in,” he teased.

Sam stepped out of the storeroom, wiping his hands on his apron. “Bucky,” he said. 

“Good to see you, Sam,” Bucky replied. 

“We were about to have dinner, Buck. Want me to cook something up for you?” Steve asked.

Bucky didn’t like taking Steve’s charity. He could always hit up a diner or sneak something at the nightclub. But Steve swore that Sam was the best cook in the city. Bucky had eaten enough to know it was true.

Probably being friends since first grade made Steve think he could read Bucky’s mind. “Sam and I will get dinner. Why don’t you take a seat up front?”

Bucky sat down at a table in the immaculate coffee shop. Steve came back from the war with a dream of owning a European-style café. With cashed-in war bonds he set up a warm and cozy shop popular with women who lunch and people looking for a spot for quiet conversation. He imported coffee from Italy and sweets from France and Sam did the baking and cooked the light lunch menu.

When Steve came out, he turned on the radio and put down the sandwiches, French fries and cola. “See you tomorrow, Sam,” he shouted to Sam in his hat and coat.

Until he smelled the delicious scent of the sandwich, Bucky had no idea how hungry he was. The old friends ate listening to the soft jazz music on the radio. Steve and Bucky, Bucky and Steve, they had been friends all their lives. From the time they played ball in the streets of Brooklyn to when they were drafted for war together. They parted ways when Bucky had an unfortunate meeting with a mine on D-Day and Steve went on to be a decorated war hero. 

“Working at the club tonight?” Steve asked.

“Yeah. Just a part-time shift.” 

Steve put his napkin down. “Bucky, if you want more work …”

“Nah, I’m good. You know, a little job here and there.” Proud and stubborn, Bucky hustled hard for his living. And he was doing just fine without Steve’s charity jobs. Steve settled back into his chair, crossing his legs. Bucky frowned. “Spill it, Rogers. Something’s plainly bothering you.”

“I know the kind of jobs you’ve been doing, Buck. People talk. It worries me that you’re not on the up-and-up.”

Bucky pushed back from the table. “Said I’m good, Steve. Got to go to work.”

Steve grabbed his arm as he went to leave. “Bucky, I don’t want the police knocking on my door, telling me that you’re in the hospital, or worse, found dead in alley.”

Bucky gritted his teeth and pulled his arm back. “Fine, Steve, I’m fine. No worries,” he snapped. Seeing Steve’s stricken face, he relented a little. “Look, I’ll check in more often, okay? So you can cluck over me like a mother-hen.”

Defeated, Steve said, “See you around, Bucky.”

~~~~~

Bucky muscled his way into the dark and smoky Pussy Cat Club looking for Natasha. Already holding court at this early hour at the end of the bar, she was wearing a dark-red dress, which plunged deep in front and hugged all her curves. She played with a lock of red hair, batting long black eyelashes at a smitten admirer and holding out a cigarette for a light. Just from the look of her a man could be in deep trouble. 

She smiled and waved him over, the other men dismissed. “Bucky, you’re late,” she teased in her slight Russian accent. 

“Aw, you know, business. But I’m here now,” he flirted back. He took a long draw on his cigarette and mashed it into an ashtray on the bar. “Anything new?”

Natasha sighed. “Just the punters. We’re not making money tonight. All these convention men – all they want is a show to talk about back home but nothing that will really get them into trouble.”

“It don’t count if you don’t get arrested, right?” Bucky joked. 

Tossing her hair back, Natasha laughed, a soft hand touching Bucky’s arm. Bucky rakishly smiled back, tapping a new cigarette on the hard wooden counter of the bar. Natasha was always there for him – taking him in when he needed a place to sleep, giving him food and clothes, and even sharing a bed when he needed the comfort. But he wasn’t here for any of that. No one knew exactly what she did for her money with her vague job of hostess for the nightclub. Bucky knew that she traded in information and she knew where the bodies were buried and all the secrets. That’s what he needed because he wasn’t going to meet Rumlow blind.

Sharon, a vision in a black-and-white houndstooth suit and blonde hair in a perfect updo, strutted over to them. She exchanged air kisses with Natasha, who regarded her possessively. The Pussy Cat Club owner liked his burlesque girls classy and model perfect and Virginia debutante Sharon fit the bill. She might have fled her country club destiny for big city life, but Sharon was born with all hard edges. She waved off Bucky’s offer of a cigarette.

“Dancing later, Sharon?” he asked.

Pulling off her lace gloves and stuffing them into her black leather purse, she said, “I’m doing both shows, early and late.” 

Natasha briefly caressed her thigh. “Remember who you’re going home with, darling.”

Sharon shared a dazzling smile with Nat. She leaned closer and said in a low voice, “Always.” She knocked back the gin and tonic served up by the bartender. “I guess I have to go. Going to join me backstage?”

“I’m catching up with Bucky here. See you later,” Nat replied.

They watched her sashay through the crowd. “Got to work hard to keep up with her,” Bucky observed. Nat shook her head and muttered darkly in Russian. “Never took you for the jealous type,” he said, taking up his drink.

“Never was, until Sharon. You should have someone like that in your life – you know, someone for whom you’d rip the world apart.” Nat bumped his hip. “I know a dozen women who’d take you in a minute. They’d be glad for a good man.”

“That’s what I am, am I?” Bucky mused. He cocked his head to the side.

“I think so,” Nat said soothingly, laying her arm across his shoulder. “Steve thinks so. He thinks the world of you.”

“That’s Steve. He likes puppies, rainbows and sunshine.” Bucky sighed. “Look, I need to know about Rumlow. He wants to hire me for a job.”

“You’ve done work for him before. What’s different now?”

“Something’s not right. Can’t quite put my finger on it.” He swished the ice cubes around in his glass. 

Natasha said, “He thinks he’s going to replace his boss so Rumlow’s looking for that perfect job to establish his territory. My money’s on his boss.” She checked the slim silver watch on her pale wrist. “I’d stay out of it if you want to stay alive,” she warned. “It’s time to work.”

~~~~~

He knew where he was going after work let out. He knew the bar on the corner, a rundown brick building with small, painted-over windows and a plain wooden door. People like Bucky were always welcome at places like this. He got a couple of nods from the boys at the door when he arrived. They knew him.

“Rumlow still here?” Bucky asked.

One of the thugs replied, “He’s out back. You can’t go in though.”

“He’s expecting me.” 

Bucky found what he expected when he went through the swinging door. In the smoke-filled room, Rumlow, in an ill-fitting, wrinkled brown suit, was seated in the midst of his enforcers and thugs at a table thickly covered with ashtrays, liquor, guns and money. Not much older than Bucky, sharp-faced Rumlow greeted him with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. “I send my boys after you for two days and now you come see me,” he snarled.

“I’ve been busy,” Bucky replied calmly, pulling up a chair to join Rumlow at the table. “What do you want?”

Rumlow rolled his eyes and whispered something with a snigger to the large, scarred man next to him. Bucky didn’t need this. But he prefered to be here voluntarily than dragged in by one of Rumlow’s boys. A lot less pain this way.

“Look, Barnes,” Rumlow said, leaning over the table intimidatingly. “I need a job done neat and clean and no messes.”

“What do you take me for? I have a reputation, you know,” Bucky said, narrowing his eyes. 

“Yeah, well, I want you to take out Steve Rogers, that guy who runs the coffee shop over by the bridge.”

Steve? Rumlow wanted him to kill _Steve_? What the hell? “Rogers? What’s he done?” Bucky asked casually, hoping he had concealed his reactions well enough.

“Tell me, Connelly, what wrong with Rogers?” the head thug asked.

“He offends you, boss,” came the response.

Rumlow threw up his hands. “That’s all the explanation you need. I want the job done by tomorrow at the latest.”

“I’m not doing it,” Bucky finally spat out. “And you’re crazy if you think --” He felt the muzzle of the gun at the back of his head before he could even finish his sentence.

Rumlow said coolly, “If I think what, Barnes? I want him gone, you do good work and you know him, so he won’t see it coming. And if you want any incentive, I’ll let you live if you do the job. You fail, you die. It’s that simple, buddy.” He studied Bucky’s shocked face. “I think you prefer to live. We all do.”

Bucky heard the harsh click of the safety being taken off. He could taste copper in his mouth as he tried to figure how he was going to talk his way out of this one. He didn’t want to die in the back room of a crappy, nondescript bar on this asshole’s orders and his body tossed into the Hudson or the East River if he was lucky. “What’s the pay? If you want this Rogers gone so bad, maybe a little extra?”

“You do right by me, I do right by you. With a little extra,” Rumlow conceded. “Now get this cripple out of here.”

Bucky was roughly grabbed by the shoulder and arm. While escorted out of the back room, he asked the thug, “Why me?”

“The boss has tried to rub out Rogers three times now. He’s tired of failure. Now scram,” the thug said, letting go of Bucky’s arm.

Bucky brushed off his suit, adjusted his tie and hat, and left the bar. He could sense he was being watched and likely followed. Steve never said anything about this. Maybe Steve never knew. Huh. He frowned and kicked at the curb. He hated Rumlow, his stupid dirty bar, and the whole damn world.

He still didn’t have a plan by the time he returned to his rented room. The converted flophouse had seen better days, with its peeling paint, broken windows and grubby carpets. The hallway outside his room smelled of urine and smoke and vomit. He couldn’t afford a real apartment with the money he earned from his bouncer job and his petty crimes. But he had a bed, a closet, a hot plate and a sink. Good enough for him.

Sitting in his open window, smoking a cigarette, he thought hard. Steve’s life or his. That simple. Rumlow wasn’t bluffing, he knew. He had worked for Rumlow before as hired muscle. The man valued violence as motivation and never hesitated to kill. He wouldn’t even give a single thought when ordering small-time criminal Bucky Barnes liquidated.

God, he hoped the morning would bring him ideas because he had nothing, he thought bleakly.

~~~~~

Bucky still gave Steve a lot of grief for naming his coffee shop Coffee Heaven. But as he stood outside Steve’s coffee shop watching Steve, he wondered if Steve had been right after all with the silly name. Nicely dressed in his work uniform with long white apron, clean-cut, blue-eyed blond Steve was cheerfully selling his pastries and cakes to entranced customers. Each small, white wooden table was filled with neighborhood families and friends drinking coffee and eating donuts. A couple of girls just barely women were laughing as they tried the cappuccino that Steve obviously charmed them into buying. Spying his angelic friend glowing in the shop lights made Bucky feel filthy and used.

A gaggle of young secretaries on their way back to work with Coffee Heaven boxes tied up with twine nearly ran over Bucky when he tried to enter the store. Smiling shyly, one of them held the door for Bucky. But he barely paid attention to her and just nodded.

The robust aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the spicy scent of warm cinnamon rolls hit him hard once inside the shop. Steve was standing by the floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with colorful boxes in foreign languages. He held out a tray of coffee samples to a doubtful, middle-aged woman who was carefully pondering each selection. With a quick nod of greeting from Steve, Bucky continued past the counter manned by one of the waitresses through a swinging door to the kitchen.

Sam, covered in flour, was methodically cutting out shapes in dough and dipping the cutouts in cinnamon and sugar. “Hey, Bucky, pull up a seat,” he said.

Bucky threw his hat and coat over a hook by the back door. By the time he turned around, the waitress from out front brought him a steaming cup of coffee, just the way he liked it, with a cinnamon roll. Steve read him like a book. The coffee was wonderfully warm in his hands. 

“Everything okay?” Sam asked. 

Bucky was startled. “What?”

Sam chuckled. “You come in here looking like death warmed over, and you’re surprised I ask about you.”

“Late night,” Bucky explained poorly.

Pausing in his work, Sam turned to give Bucky a good, long lookover. “Come on, Bucky, you know that Steve worries about you, and we know that’s it’s not just ‘late nights.’ What is it this time -- trouble with bookies? Or that loan shark doing business out the garage around the corner?”

“Not that,” Bucky mumbled. The coffee turned bitter in his mouth when he heard Steve’s name. Here he was sitting in Steve’s bright, efficient kitchen filled with the aromas of coffee, cinnamon and browned butter. He could glimpse the busy coffee shop beyond the swinging door and hear Steve’s sincere baritone.

“Cripes, tell me you haven’t gotten in a tangle with the Mafia,” Sam chided.

“No, not the Mafia,” Bucky snapped. But Rumlow might as well be, he conceded. 

A timer rang and Sam turned to tend to the cookies in the oven. While Sam was distracted, Bucky grabbed his hat and coat and slipped out the back. With any more questions from a sharp Sam, he would have told him everything. He feared Steve finding out and feared more what Steve might do. He never wanted to be the cause of any problems for his best friend.

Bucky spent the rest of the day out of the chilly, early Spring wind in the movie theater. And finally a plan came to him like a bolt from the blue. He’d lie low at Natasha and Sharon’s for a day or two to avoid Rumlow’s boys before hopping a train to California. The girls liked Steve and would do anything to help him and Bucky. He could send Steve a letter when he got to L.A. He hated the idea of not seeing Steve again. But all Bucky ever really needed in life was one alive and breathing Steve Rogers somewhere in the world. 

He planned to hit up Natasha at the club. But Bucky never made it there. Filled with thoughts of what he could pawn to buy a train ticket and unwary, he was pulled into a side alley by three thugs. They punched him until he fell to the ground and then they kicked. He didn’t have a chance of fighting back. Leaving him bleeding and laid out in the garbage filled alley, one of the thugs sneered, “Rumlow wanted to remind you that you have a job to do by tomorrow morning. Or else.”

~~~~~

Returning to the shop, Steve found Bucky covered in blood and slumped against the back door. Bucky smiled weakly at Steve, who was unusually dressed up in a trim gray suit and matching gray trilby hat with a red feather tucked in the brim. God, Steve looked amazing, right then and there, for every reason in the book. “Look at you all dressed up,” he said, trying for casual. 

Steve helped him up. “I had a meeting with my banker,” he explained as he unlocked the door. “What happened to you?”

“Business deal gone wrong,” Bucky offered. “They didn’t break the arm, so that’s good news.” He flexed the hook a little to show off.

“Still noticed the blood on your face, Bucky,” Steve pointed out. He helped Bucky out of his coat and pushed Bucky into a chair, then went rummaging in the kitchen for bandages, clean rags and water. While assembling the supplies he put his hat, suit coat, tie and dress shirt in his tiny office off the kitchen and threw an apron over his sleeveless t-shirt. 

He sat down across from Bucky and began to gently clean up every trace of blood off Bucky’s face, hair and neck. He dipped the rag into the bowl of water to wash the blood out. The kitchen was completely silent except for the dripping water splashing in the bowl, the refrigerator hum, and the brush of the wet rag on Bucky’s skin. With each dab of the rag Steve washed away Bucky’s hurt and pain and the marks of each and every terrible decision and mistake.

Bucky was grateful that Steve didn’t ask questions but he knew they were coming. “Thanks, Mom,” he joked as Steve finished.

“Hungry?” 

Bucky’s empty stomach rumbled its agreement. “I could do with something.”

“I’ll rustle something up then.”

He wolfed down the sandwich Steve made. Steve left his own sandwich untouched as he watched Bucky, the little wrinkle between the eyebrows betraying Steve’s worry and concern. He braced himself for the coming barrage of questions and the likely lecture.

“What happened really, Bucky?” Steve finally asked. 

Bucky looked down at his lap, not wanting to face the kindness and love in Steve’s face. He had not felt this miserable since he lost his arm after that explosion on D-Day. He tried to shrug it off by saying, “Bad business deal.”

“You say that I like I don’t know the people you do business with.” Steve fiddled with a fork between his fingers, biting his lip. “Was this beating a warning, Bucky? Do you need money?” he asked earnestly.

“No, nothing like that, seriously, Steve,” Bucky said firmly.

Steve threw his hands up. “I just want to help. We’ve been friends forever and here I am watching you just slip away.”

Bucky brushed the wet hair out of his eyes and then leaned forward, putting a hand on Steve’s knee. He looked up into the big, blue eyes of his childhood friend. “I am not asking you to save me,” he spat out.

Steve stared right back at him. Then he placed a gentle kiss on Bucky’s cracked knuckles, and said bravely and strongly, “No, I am not trying to save you. I am fighting for you.”

Something burst in Bucky, something long buried and repressed. He glanced at Steve’s soft red lips and his loving eyes, and Bucky’s heart beat desperately in his chest. Compelled by this sudden love, he surged forward and kissed Steve. Just a quick peck on the lips, nothing more. He sunk back into his chair, not daring to look Steve in the eye, afraid he had taken a step too far.

But Steve … well, Steve leaned forward and lifted Bucky’s chin. And kissed him back passionately, as if giving in to years of longing. As suddenly as it happened it was over. Steve sat back down his chair, a beatific smile on his lips.

Shocked, Bucky rubbed a hand on his leg, barely able to face a man that he had clearly loved all his life. He finally admitted, “Rumlow’s trying to get me to kill you. He threatened my life if I don’t, and the beating this afternoon was a reminder.”

Steve laughed grimly. “He’s been after me for a year. Ever since I refused to pay him protection. Or something like that. He hates that Sam’s my partner and that I serve foreign coffee. There’s always something. He just flat out wants me gone. Don’t worry about it.” He kissed Bucky’s head and ruffled his hair. He retrieved his service gun from a hidden place in his office. 

“Steve,” Bucky hissed. “You can’t think --”

“What, you think that this wasn’t a set-up?” Steve exclaimed. “I don’t think Rumlow wants you around either, you know. I think he’s hoping you either kill me or I kill you. He’s counting on our friendship to make the fight real ugly. He’s probably sending his thugs over later to clean up whoever’s left alive.”

“Oh, I didn’t see that at all,” Bucky replied.

Steve rubbed his shoulder. “Rumlow’s not that good a thinker.” He checked the clock. “It’s still early. They’ll come after dark and we’ll be waiting for them.”

After Steve ate his dinner and put on a plaid shirt he found in the storeroom, he brought out a couple of boxes. “Look at what I bought the other day,” he said proudly, showing off the latest in coffee percolator technology by Stark Industries.

The two friends spent two hours experimenting with the new percolators. Time still crawled slowly as they waited for the evening and the death lurking in the shadows. Bucky jumped at every noise and wondered at Steve’s calm. He shrugged it off. “I learned to wait in Europe, Buck. Not any different than waiting for the krauts.”

Steve let him help dry the dishes. They talked about the new owner of the Dodgers, whom Steve didn’t trust, and the prospects for the new season. As the baseball talk sputtered out, Steve gave Bucky a sidelong glance. “I didn’t forget about earlier, you know.”

Bucky sighed. “I shouldn’t have.”

Steve put a warm large hand on his shoulder. “No, don’t take it back.”

“Then, why me?”

“It’s always been you, Bucky, from the beginning, and will be to the end of the line.” Steve gently laid a hand on his shoulder. “You never stopped being a good man.”

Before Bucky could say anything, there was an ominous rattle at the door. “Didn’t wait, did they?” Steve said harshly as he dove for the gun. “I’ll hold them here. You call the police. Phone in office.” He cocked his head in the direction of the phone.

Reluctant to leave Steve alone, Bucky backed carefully into the office. Steve wedged himself behind the storeroom door. The doorknob rattled more. Bucky dialed the local station and just as he was patched through to the duty officer, he heard one of the thugs kick a crack into the door. Patiently Steve held back, waiting for the thugs to break the door down. “The police are on their way,” Bucky announced.

“Good,” Steve said tersely as he cocked the gun. 

They could hear heavy thumping as the thugs threw themselves against the door. The door groaned and shook under their weight. “Got to be three guys, Steve.”

“Uh-huh,” Steve grunted.

Steve’s gun flashed the minute he saw a shoulder break through the door. The thug cursed as the bullet tore into his flesh. Another thug shoved a gun through the hole in the door. Bucky desperately looked around the office for anything he could use for a weapon. Steve shot again, this time hitting the hand of the thug with the gun. 

“Stand down! Police!” the arriving police officers announced as they entered the alley. And it was all over.

As polite as ever, Steve made coffee and apologized for the day-old pastries to the policemen who filled the kitchen. The lieutenant with a half-eaten bear claw in his hand smiled. “This is more than fine, Mr. Rogers, thank you.”

Another officer asked, “Do you need police protection tonight?”

Steve smiled at Bucky. “Bucky and I will be fine on our own.” 

“Mr. Rogers here is a decorated war veteran,” the lieutenant explained to the other officer. “And still a crack shot as anyone can tell. Bunch a’ idiots for taking him on.”

~~~~~

It was kind of funny how Bucky never left Steve’s after that night they waited for Rumlow’s thugs. And if he spent more time in Steve’s bed than his own, well, that was nobody’s business but theirs. Every day, Bucky had a hot shower, good food, clean clothes, a paying job and a personal beam of sunshine in Steve. He couldn’t ask for more.

Yawning, Bucky stumbled out to the kitchen, still bleary-eyed from sleeping in. Clad only in his boxers, Steve was already manning the stove and flipping eggs. “Good morning, Buck,” Steve said. “How do you want your eggs?”

“Over easy,” Bucky replied as he slid into a chair. Bucky smiled as Steve brought over coffee and toast. He picked up the paper and flipped through the pages, landing on a short story tucked into the back. “Oh, they found Rumlow. Floating in the Hudson,” he said in surprise.

Steve shrugged. “Expected news. We already heard that around the neighborhood.” He plated the eggs and threw some bacon into the skillet.

Bucky snorted. They had heard that a mob enforcer had taken offense at Rumlow attempting to rub out Steve. The enforcer’s wife bought her coffee from Steve, whom she adored, and, besides, Steve was a local hero. Bad for business and ultimately bad for Rumlow. The world was better off without him.

Putting down a plate of eggs and bacon in front of Bucky, Steve stole a kiss from him in payment. Bucky leaned into the warm, mostly naked Steve. Steve ran his hand through Bucky’s short hair. “Do you have to go to work?” Bucky complained. “We could stay in all day.”

Steve sighed. “Got to pay the bills. You know I’m busiest on the weekends, just like you are.” He paused thoughtfully. He offered, “Maybe I could swing a day off mid-week. Let me work it out with Sam.”

A day off with Steve sounded like the best thing in the world. “Sure,” he said as Steve sat down at the table and stole the sports page.

They ate breakfast in companionable silence. Bucky glanced at Steve, frowning over the baseball box scores, the morning sunlight bathing Steve in light as if he were a god from some myth. The quiet scene belied Steve’s bravery and strength. For a long time, Bucky didn’t think he had anything to offer Steve, but he knew differently now. And Bucky would rip apart the world to protect his friend.

So of course he had to steal back the sports page when Steve was briefly distracted. 

“Jerk,” Steve huffed as he tried to snag the paper back.

“Punk,” Bucky replied fondly, with love.


End file.
